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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24805489">The Mad Scientist's Cocktail Party</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonAlpaca/pseuds/AnonAlpaca'>AnonAlpaca</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bad Decisions, Comedy, Drinking, Dubious Science, Established Relationship, Gen, Hijinks &amp; Shenanigans, M/M, Mad Scientists, Party</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:54:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,719</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24805489</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonAlpaca/pseuds/AnonAlpaca</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A frustrated Faba who hasn't been given a chance for his hosting skills to shine, and a Colress who's bored out of his mind are never, ever a good combination. The solution? The most ridiculous, indulgent New Year's extravaganza Faba's ever organised, or will organise. The guest list's filled with researchers old and new, scientists Colress stumbled on in his travels. All of them either were, or are, mad.</p><p>And as Colress and Faba already know, mad scientists meeting mad scientists always ends well...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Achroma | Colress/Sauboh | Faba, Aogiri | Archie/Matsubusa | Maxie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. In Which Colress Realises He Might Attract a Certain Kind of Person</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Whatever reason you personally had for wanting to live on a houseboat hanging off the coat of Poni Island, there was a certain calm that hung around the Seafolk Village. Even in the heat of summer, the start of the Midsummer holidays, where honeymooners and photographers alike would fly to Alola for the glittering sea and clear skies, it stayed quiet. And the people of Seafolk Village couldn’t ask for anything more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Some lay on hammocks that they’d managed to screw onto their houseboats, watching the sun go down. Some fished for dinner just outside their living room. Some were calling friends and family, wondering who’d take care of the houseboat while they were gone.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>And as they hung out their laundry, the ‘neighbours’ (could you call them that?) were eavesdropping on the conversation drifting out the windows of the quaint blue houseboat.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>...But there was one phrase they never, ever wanted to hear.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ergh,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Faba mumbled, muffled by the desk.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“What’s wrong?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>bored.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I...might be able to help,” The man in the hawaiian shirt looked up from his tablet.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“No, it’s fine, </span>
  <em>
    <span>but,</span>
  </em>
  <span> look at this,” said Faba, beckoning Colress over anyway and rolling backwards on the chair, “Look </span>
  <em>
    <span>at </span>
  </em>
  <span>this. I’ve been experimenting with giving myself one task per day, but, look, </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> is what I’ve got to do in order to get the Aether Midsummer Extravaganza running on the 15th,” he snapped, pointing at the spreadsheet on the screen, “I’ve put ‘buy the drinks’ tomorrow…”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Because it’s the fun one?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yes, yes,” Faba groaned, “it is, except...how do I put this? I know </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> preferences, my aesthetics, my...my vibes. I don’t know everyone else’s and I can’t exactly ask my higher-ups what kind of alcohol she - I mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>they</span>
  </em>
  <span> like the most, because I know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>for a fact</span>
  </em>
  <span>, they’ll all deny that they like to get drunk.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Buy them nothing,” Colress suggested, “then they can’t complain.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I could. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>could,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but then </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>wouldn’t be able to get…oh, you know.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Faba harrumphed and left his desk - he vaulted over the back of the couch and landed right next to Colress with a loud </span>
  <em>
    <span>thump</span>
  </em>
  <span>, bouncing the cushions in the air, knocking the tablet out of their lap - all twenty tabs still open.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Can I help? I could...send the invitations. Organise a guest list. Keep the beer in my coat, everyone’ll like that,” Colress offered with a grin, “I’ve got, er…”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>All of them were travel agencies, and none of them good.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“All the time in the world.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh, no, no, I can</span>
  <em>
    <span> handle</span>
  </em>
  <span> it fine, it’s my job,” Faba told him, laying down in Colress’ lap and staring at the ceiling, “I just won’t like it that much - </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’d</span>
  </em>
  <span> hate it.” He took off his glasses, threw them across the living-room - and saw them land perfectly on their hammock.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Weeell...”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Colress lay his head back against the seat.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“No, you’re right,” he murmured.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>So the two slumped sideways into the pile of multicoloured cushions on one side of the couch, the ones that Faba never cared to move - and if they squinted at the sea, just past the glass doors, he could see the Aether Paradise floating on the horizon.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Some of the locals said it was a great white eyesore, often when Faba was in earshot.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh - I know, I know. I should have</span>
  <em>
    <span> another</span>
  </em>
  <span> New Year’s party later, shouldn’t I? I can’t just have one party the entire holiday, it hasn’t got the right...vibes,” Faba wondered with a smile, “I’ll have one with a lot more people </span>
  <em>
    <span>outside</span>
  </em>
  <span> of...work…” (It faded, quick.)</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I might be able to help with that.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Colress, of course, couldn’t care less about what people thought of Aether.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“If you don’t mind - I know some...interesting people.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>But every now and then, if the topic came up...he might mention how the whole structure was technically drifting south, at a rate of a metre a day.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You’ve got that...</span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span> on your face again.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Is that a good or a bad thing?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Good. Very good.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It took Colress a minute to tell Faba the idea, but the whole evening for them to tell each other the rest. See, the idea did what every single idea created by two middle-aged men with free time, several promotions, and more than one boat does: it ballooned.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“How old is he if he’s still using a Pika-Mail account?” Faba craned over Colress’ laptop.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Surprisingly young…”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>From: colress.dr@airmail.un </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>To: </span>
  </em>
  <a href="mailto:bill.pc@pikamail.ka">
    <em>
      <span>bill.rye@pikamail.k</span>
    </em>
  </a>
  <em>
    <span>a</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Bill,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Hello! My name is Colress. You might remember me from…</span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Copy-paste that part,” Faba suggested.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oooh, good idea!”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>...the 2010 Poke-PC full region coverage celebration, in Anville Town. I believe we talked about hacking protections, anti-virus software, the possibility of Plasma cybercrime, et cetera. I very much enjoyed it! I know it’s been a while, but I’d like to invite you to a New Year’s celebration...</span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Far, far away, in a cottage north of Cerulean City, Bill Rye kicked up his feet on the desk. A quick glance over the wall showed him a hundred other blueprints that weren’t calendars - but once he did remember where he’d put it, he realised for the third time that day that his holiday schedule was entirely empty. The chat room with all the PC developers - Lanette, Bebe, Amanita, Cassius, the crazy bastard, Molayne - was open in the background, notification ping turned all the way to max volume and opened to the ‘idea-dropbox’ channel...</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The last thing sent to it was one of Amanita’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘lolcats.’</span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Colress. Ah, Colress, he was one of those guys you see at every technology convention, a thousand and one ideas without a single mention of the funding to get them done. At the time, he remembered leaving the convention hall with a certain sense of smug superiority.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>After all, the PC system had reached its magnum opus.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He faintly remembered mentioning it to them, drunk on wine and praise. And he definitely remembered Colress saying there was ‘no such thing.’</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>wrong, of course, but oh, how he wished they weren’t.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>To: </span>
  </em>
  <a href="mailto:bill.pc@pikamail.ka">
    <em>
      <span>bill.rye@pikamail.k</span>
    </em>
  </a>
  <em>
    <span>a</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>From: </span>
  </em>
  <a href="mailto:colress.dr@airmail.un">
    <em>
      <span>colress.dr@airmail.un</span>
    </em>
    <em>
      <span><br/>
</span>
    </em>
    <em>
      <span><br/>
</span>
    </em>
  </a>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, I’m very interested! May I ask, though, how is pickup going to work?</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>One thing was for sure: there was no way Bill could boast about the PC anymore. But he did have something new he could show off, something at the very back of his cottage, behind the boxes and the unopened mail - and while he absolutely couldn’t take two human-sized test tubes with him, he did know what he could bring...</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>Himself.</span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He dusted off the laminated label that sat between the chambers. The paper was faded and the plastic peeling, but it was definitely still readable.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>‘IN CASE OF SNAFU, USE ‘CELL SEPARATION SYSTEM.’ </span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“How many people should we plan for? Let’s say they all bring a ‘plus one’ - “</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Colress snickered to himself.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>From: colress.dr@airmail.un </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>To: yukinari.oak@signalboost.ka</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Hello! </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>It’s me, Colress. How have you been doing over the Midsummer break? I hear your team has been doing more research into the Unovan biosecurity rollbacks, but I hope you’re getting some time to put your feet up. I know this might be a surprise, but I’d like to invite you to a New Year’s Celebration...</span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Not so far, far away in a Malie City hotel, Professor Oak was sitting on one of the beds with his laptop; back straight, shoulders back, special glasses on. The last thing he wanted was to wake up with a stiff neck, the day he saw Samuel and all the other kids, or come pick up Red from the airport with bags under his eyes - he promised himself, no work after the sun set.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>(He probably wouldn’t be able to sleep the full 10 hours anyway. Excitement could keep anyone awake, even if they were 55 years young.)</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Still, he made a little ‘oh!’ sound when he saw the address - </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Which his grandson, lying on the bed next to his, was trying his best to not get distracted by. He had important videos to watch; real footage of a Pidgeot diving at over 200 kilometres an hour - a learning opportunity if he ever saw it.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Colress?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Even now, though, he was planning how he would get his gramps to quiet down a little.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh, my.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Politely, of course.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Blue.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeaaah?” He dropped the phone on the bedspread.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“This very nice man I used to work with just invited me to a very fancy New Year’s Eve party,” Oak explained, with flair, “If it doesn’t clash with any battles, would you, er...like to be my plus one? There’ll be some very interesting people there.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Okay, first of all,” Blue fired back, “what’s your definition of ‘interesting people?’”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Well, he’s inviting all his friends, so...scientists!”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Mm. Sounds </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> - “</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>Wait.</span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Sounds...fun? Really fun, actually. ...For you,” Blue stammered, gesturing toward Oak, “Not really my </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, though. Sorry.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>And then the professor got a twinkle in his eye.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Alright, but look at this,” he said, beckoning his grandson over to his laptop and showing him the attachment on the email - a ship, lit up in front of the shining Alolan sea. Sleek, electrified, modernised, tall, exactly what you thought of when someone (or maybe just Blue) said </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘battle in the sky.’</span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Uh, wow,” Blue murmured, trying to pick his jaw up off the floor before anyone noticed.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Ah,” Oak quipped, “you’re so </span>
  <em>
    <span>predictable</span>
  </em>
  <span> sometimes.”</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Hmm,” Colress commented, holding the address book open, “I wouldn’t bet on him being able to come, if I’m being completely honest. It’s worth a try.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Excuse you,” Faba snapped back once he read the name, “he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Who’s your source on that?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“...Very reliable.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>From: </span>
  </em>
  <a href="mailto:tabi.throwaway@seabottle.si">
    <em>
      <span>tabi.throwaway@seabottle.si</span>
    </em>
    <em>
      <span><br/>
</span>
    </em>
  </a>
  <em>
    <span>To: </span>
  </em>
  <a href="mailto:maximilian.null@seabottle.si">
    <em>
      <span>maximilian.null@seabottle.si</span>
    </em>
    <em>
      <span><br/>
</span>
    </em>
    <em>
      <span><br/>
</span>
    </em>
  </a>
  <span>Sent to the Magma Enquiries Hotline?? Thought you might want to see this just in case you know the guy, he seems nice if a bit confused</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>(P.S: Please don’t worry; I haven’t sent a reply.)</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>----- Forwarded Message -----</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>From: colress.dr@airmail.un </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>To: enquiries@magma.co.ho</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>Greetings,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>My name is Colress. In 2015, I visited your facility for several weeks to inquire about your discoveries regarding Mega Evolution, Infinity Energy, and other such Pokemon performance-enhancing substances. Whoever is reading this, if anyone ever reads this: pass this onto the ex-leader Maximillian Wentforth - I have a new, more casual proposition to make, along the lines of a late New Year’s celebration. In Alola, all transportation taken care of, a plus one allowed.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Our conversation can be continued separately, privately, and confidentially.</span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“My word.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Far, far, </span>
  <em>
    <span>far </span>
  </em>
  <span>away, in a Sinnohan nowhere town, deeply nestled in the Coronet mountain range and a thick blanket of snow, the ex-leader of Team Magma was reading his emails. He’d long since traded worrying about overpopulation for worrying about bills to pay, replaced the decorative lava tubes with tinsel in similar reds and oranges and yellows around his humble home - ‘twas the season, after all. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It gave him an excuse to dress up the place. It gave him a holiday, a concept he didn’t appreciate enough for the years he didn’t have them. (It also gave him vague feelings of homesickness, but still, he’d better keep a stiff upper lip and accept it.)</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>But right now, he was content. He had everything he needed for a quiet night in; a cup of cinnamon tea, his favourite red dressing gown, his Camerupt snoozing on the floor and overheating his computer, and most importantly, he had...</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“</span>
  <b>
    <em>Arch-iiiiie!</em>
  </b>
  <span>”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>What he did not need was </span>
  <em>
    <span>this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yeaaah?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” they called back, opening the door to the office and sitting down on top of the filing cabinets. Archie squinted a little, trying to read the whole email and checking it twice.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Okay, first of all…” he began, taking a deep breath, “who’s Colress?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“A sort of freelance researcher, if I remember correctly,” Maxie described, “he came over to, er…’observe our progress’ for a couple of weeks. He had this...strange blue </span>
  <em>
    <span>quiff,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he continued, pointing to his head, “you’d swear it was some kind of feather or ribbon. Never cared for the whole Aqua, Magma rivalry, and if I - if I ever tried to </span>
  <em>
    <span>force</span>
  </em>
  <span> it into conversation,” he finished, his words getting a little more bite, “he’d change the subject.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah, I was wondering why</span>
  <em>
    <span> I </span>
  </em>
  <span>never saw him, then,” Archie wondered, “if we were researching the same kind of thing - I guess he just wanted to avoid the drama?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh, yes, definitely. But really, he was very sweet! Though one day, he...”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Maxie looked down at the desk.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“He just left, he...must’ve realised that I didn’t want a second opinion on anything.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You think so?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yes - he was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>enthusiastic</span>
  </em>
  <span> too,” Maxie sighed, “But - look at this, now he’s offering a free trip to Alola and back, ‘all transportation taken care of,’ though I don’t know how on earth </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> going to work...“ He pushed himself back from the desk a tiny bit, and clicked a link in Tabitha’s email, almost absentmindedly - a new draft popped up, addressed to Colress himself.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“So,” Archie told him softly, hopping off the filing cabinet, “I’m sure he’s over it now. ...But, personally, I wouldn’t go if you don’t feel like it’s going to be fun.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Maxie nodded, took a sip of his tea.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Good point. ...I mean, look at me,” he muttered, “still worrying about the opinion of one man with - with</span>
  <em>
    <span> that </span>
  </em>
  <span>haircut.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The cursor was blinking impatiently.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“But I’ll...get back to him, shall I?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeaah. Give it a shot. I mean, hey,” Archie added, a cheeky murmur, “if he’s trying some kind of pyramid scheme, we could mess with him for a little bit...”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>A little less far away, on a hillside in Fallarbor Town, a middle-aged man was laying a towel on the ground to catch the before-morning dew, fiddling with a telescope. His coworkers were on break - the Mossdeep Space Centre was, as far as he knew, collecting dust. If he knew how to calibrate this, recentre that, he’d go back first thing tomorrow morning. Make up something new for him to work on, ‘cause he sure wasn’t finding anything looking through a cheap hundred-thousand yen telescope on the local hillside -</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Then the phone in his pocket buzzed.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, bugger it, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>my night vision’s already shot.</span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>From: colress.dr@airmail.un </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>To: takao.cozmo</span>
  </em>
  <a href="mailto:bill.pc@pikamail.ka">
    <em>
      <span>@</span>
    </em>
  </a>
  <em>
    <span>starlight.ho</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Professor Cozmo,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Hello! My name is Colress. You might remember me from the 2019 Astronomy Convention, in Hearthome City - we talked after your presentation on common, space-related conspiracy theories, which I thought was very amusing! Your part about people who parallel universe theory was very intriguing, and still is. I have a suggestion...</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <span>If it was to continue the conversation, he’d love to. Imagine the look on his face if he added Steven Stone was ‘one of those people!’ Confident enough to shut him down, even. Though of course, that was if this man was still interested in talking about astronomy. The few words he could use to describe him were: calm, starry-eyed (ha!) and a tiny bit ditsy.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>I know it’s been a while, but I’d like to invite you to a New Year’s celebration - held in Alola. It’s got the lowest levels of light pollution on Earth, but I’m sure you knew that already...</span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>But the fact a wandering freelance researcher from across the pond remembered forgettable old Cozmo made his heart </span>
  <em>
    <span>pop.</span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>From: colress.dr@airmail.un </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>To: cyrus.aristarkhov</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>@</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>seabottle.si</span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Doctor Aristarkhov,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Hello! My name is Colress. You may remember me from the Sunyshore Inventor’s Showcase in 2017, though I did also visit your Galactic facilities. I don’t believe I got to meet you in person during this time, but your work surrounding metaphysics and spacetime manipulation intrigued me greatly. I have a proposition.</span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>-----</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>From: </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>cyrus.aristarkhov@seabottle.si</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>To: colress.dr@airmail.un</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>This is an automated email.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>You’re getting this because Dr. Cyrus Aristarkhov isn’t able to reply to emails right now. If you have urgent concerns regarding Team Galactic instead, you should contact our admins at: </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>contact@galactic.org.si</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>. If not, Cyrus should return: Never.</span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You know him too?” Faba wondered, passing the scrap of paper to Colress.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Ahh, yes. He visited Team Plasma, the little loyalist branch. He was more about...ethics.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Is that a…”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh, no, we can still invite him. The more the merrier.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>To: fuji.center</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>@pikamail.k</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>a</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>From: </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>colress.dr@airmail.un</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Dr. Fuji,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Hello! My name is Colress. You may remember me from your consultation with Team Plasma’s N-loyalist offshoot, while you gave them advice on caring for abused Pokemon - I visited, briefly. Me and a good friend of mine (who’s also read your papers on Pokemon gene-splicing and cloning - </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <span>“Don’t tell him </span>
  <em>
    <span>that!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Faba hissed, “He’s taken them down!”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Hm. Well, whatever copy you got a hold of, send me it...”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>Me and a good friend of mine (who’s also a fan of your research) are planning a New Year’s celebration in Alola for all the scientists I’ve met, from all walks of life, on my travels as a freelance researcher. Right now, my theme is ‘bringing out the potential in Pokemon’...and I know your theme is giving that potential back.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Message me back, if you’d like to know the details.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <span>Across the sea in Lavender Town, Dr. Fuji was, for once, sure that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did.</span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He had several friends he could help take care of the Pokemon while he was off mingling with the greatest, or the normal-est. In fact, he’d already been preparing them for when he shuffled off this mortal coil, as opposed to shuffling onto a plane to Alola. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The Cubone - his Cubone - were doing wonderfully, their separation anxiety was lessening by the day and they only clung to his feet when they wanted a cuddle. They toddled around the office behind him, play-fighting one another with a sound like quiet xylophones, as bone harmlessly bounced off bone.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Now faintly, very faintly...he remembered a strange young man popping in, in the middle of his meeting with the rag-tag band of Plasma members. He gave his name. He gave a tiny introductory speech. ...And then never asked a single question. (But he rarely looked at the Purrloin, hiding in the corner of the room.)</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>What caught his eye the most in that email was the word ‘scientist.’</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He’d spent so, so long in this little cottage by the graveyard, content with choosing ‘sweet and kindly, passive old man’ instead of ‘scientist.’ When people walked in the door, they just looked at how kind he was, an example of how age will make you wiser - age? </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>(They never looked at the Cubone.)</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>Age </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t make one wiser. Getting fired from Team Rocket did - but that was just him. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Now, Dr Fuji had moved on. What he knew this year was this: he could be both. Kind did not mean passive, and that scientists could feed Cubone with bottles instead of acting like second-rate gods. Damn right, he was proud of it. Damn right, he would have </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun</span>
  </em>
  <span> with this job.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Damn</span>
  <em>
    <span> right,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was going.</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“She should be somewhat free now that the Galar League's season is over for the year...at least, I think it’s over,” Colress rambled, “I didn’t watch it…”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Honey, I think we’ll need to change that - ”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>To: oleana.carpenter</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>@</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>macro.cosmos.ga</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>From: </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>colress.dr@airmail.un</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Dr. Carpenter,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Hello! My name is Colress. You may remember me from the discovery of the Dynamax phenomenon, and the party that went with it. As a researcher who was and still is interested in the limits of Pokemon power, you and your team’s discovery would always intrigue me - and I’ve always wanted to participate in a Dynamax battle if I ever came to Galar again!</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>In the meantime, however, I am hosting a New Year’s party for other scientists I’ve met on my travels. If you don’t have the time, I completely understand...</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <span>Oh, Oleana could make time.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>No-one was there in her office to see her smile again, twirling a pen in her hand, apart from her Trubbish, of course, resting in the wastepaper bin by her feet - where else?</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Her work at Macros Cosmos had few holidays, if any - in fact, when everyone else was celebrating at home, the company’s profits usually rose by around 50%. Ads, merchandise, disposable income, all that jazz. But Chairman Rose could make an exception for this, once. In fact...no, he’d</span>
  <em>
    <span> love</span>
  </em>
  <span> to see this. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It wasn’t unlike him to take a shine to someone he’d never met in person.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>But from the half-hour she’d spent talking to Colress, she got the gist that he didn’t like to mingle with the bigger fish; he preferred the underfunded and the underreported, the unconfirmed and dare she say, shady. Took a slight amount of pride in it that she found confusing. Though the pride might just have been a party guest expertly mirroring the mood - her mood, actually.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Colress</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she began to type, </span>
  <em>
    <span>thankyou for getting in touch... </span>
  </em>
  <span>(Her Trubbish hopped onto the desk and nudged her elbow, chirruping.)</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Bun,” she murmured, “I’ll explain later.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>Had</span>
  </em>
  <span> she become the bigger fish? Maybe. Who cared? Certainly not her, and, she could guess, not him. All that mattered was good work. Anything else? Overcomplication.</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven,” Colress was rambling, flicking through his address book as he paced around the coffee table, “would you say that’s enough for a cocktail party?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Ah, I wouldn’t force a longer guest list if you don’t know them that well,” Faba mused, “It only gets confusing, awkward, and, of course, more expensive - “</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Our definitions of ‘knowing well’ are a little different, darling.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“...Found them interesting?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Here, I’ll see if I can pick one more, just one,” Colress suggested, flicking to a random page of the booklet and tracing his finger down, “Eenie, meenie, miney, mo, catch a Deino by the toe, if he bites you, let him go, eenie, meenie, miney, mo…Ah. Well, then.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Who was it?” Faba wondered, as Colress cracked his knuckles and sat back down at the desk, typing in the email with ridiculous speed - he considered stopping them. Key word, considered.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Someone going by ‘Cara Liss.’”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Cara Liss,” Faba repeated, “Cara-liss - ohh.”</span>
</p><p><span><br/>
</span><span>Colress had already finished that subject line - something, something, New Year’s celebration, which...meant it was fair game. Clearly, since just after he’d finished typing the obligatory ‘my name is,’ he felt a brush against his shoulder - Faba slid in next to him on a desk chair, obviously trying to hold back laughter and flushed bright red. (And if Colress could notice it, he was doing a terrible job of it.)</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“Honey.”</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“Yeeees?”</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“What</span> <span>on Earth were </span><em><span>you</span></em><span> getting up to in Galar,” Faba said with a smirk he had to pay attention to, “that made a lady give you a fake name?...”</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“I’m not one to...judge a parent’s personal decision,” Colress scoffed, “but please elaborate - “</span></p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Mm, I’ll be gracious,” they continued, raising an eyebrow, “and assume this happen before we became ‘official.’ but if not, then I think </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> got a lot of explaining to do...“</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Really, I just read about her on a BuzzNav article,” Colress obliged, “Thought I might buy some of those patchwork - </span>
  <em>
    <span>things</span>
  </em>
  <span>...”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Faba gave him a kiss or two up his jawline, resting half his weight on their dangerously tilted desk-chair. Still, Colress was paying more attention to how ridiculously ticklish their goatee was against his neck. (Hm. Maybe that was why he always wore turtlenecks.)</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“But,” he murmured, “you can believe what you want to believe.” The chair rolled to the side, the both of them almost sitting on the same seat.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Don’t you</span>
  <em>
    <span> start</span>
  </em>
  <span> - “</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Should I be flattered?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Well, I - I’d certainly hope so,” Faba commented, glancing at Colress’ lips and waiting for whatever go-ahead he gave. Colress - well, he was far too caught up in the moment to clarify the last thing he’d said. What could he say? He was a very distractible man, always had been. He leaned in and a little bit down, Faba leaned over and up, and - </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Gah!”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>One of the chair’s legs left the ground. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve gotcha!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Colress felt a hand grab the back of his shirt while his slammed into the desk with a bang and a click. (It did nothing.) All the wheels still clunked back onto the floor. Nothing was broken. Especially not the mood, if Faba’s look of complete pride was anything to go by.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Bugger,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” said Colress.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>...That is, until they looked over and realised Colress’ hand had slammed into the mouse, and the cursor had slammed into the ‘send’ button.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Ah, well,” he murmured, as Faba’s jaw dropped, “This might be interesting.”</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<hr/><p><span><br/>
</span><span>Far, far away in a Hammerlocke studio apartment, long after all her neighbours turned out the lights and went to sleep, Cara Liss was absolutely, posilutely delighted. </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><em><span>To: cara.liss</span></em><em><span>@</span></em><em><span>pikamail.ga</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>From: </span></em><em><span>colress.dr@airmail.un</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><span><br/>
</span><em><span>Dear Cara Liss,</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>Hello! My name is Colress, a freelance researcher with a special interest in the potential of Pokemon, of all shapes and sizes. I’ve read about your work with fossil Pokemon, and about your new discoveries, as you call them! I’m hosting a New Year’s celebration for other Pokemon researchers like me all across the worjknl</span></em><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>Good god, that BuzzNav article had finally paid off for her - her shot at glory had come, and the bullet had her name on it. In front of the mirror, lit by the lightning outside her window, Cara threw on her signature and only labcoat - coated in a little bit of sweat, a lot of mud, some tears, probably, and what was hopefully not blood.</span><span><br/>
</span><span>(Her neighbours could hear someone’s cackling laughter.)</span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>This Colress bloke? Sounded nice. Her bags? Packed. Her sunglasses? Who needed those? Her new discoveries? Still in the fridge as they always were, their Pokeballs rolling around behind the icecream and the Slowpoke tail -  and there was already a spot in the suitcase for them. Arctovish, Dracovish, Arctozolt and Dracozolt - she’d never leave behind her magnum opus. Or magnum opuses. Magnum opii.</span> <em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>Fuck.</span></em><span><br/>
<br/>
</span></p>
<hr/><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>I’ll spare you the details of all the organising, the date-and-timing, the buying of the cocktails and the tables and the chairs and everything else that happened in the next month. (Though Faba would’ve loved to boast about it, I’m sure.) Bill got his machine working, Oleana got her leave, Dr. Fuji wished his Pokemon goodbye, Cara Liss’ fossils stayed alive, Cyrus still never replied, Cozmo packed his telescope, Blue had tried his best not to forget, and Maxie...</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Maxie had finally worked out how he was going to be picked up.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He was the final stop on Colress’ round trip around - well, the whole world - and if told he could get picked up anywhere, well, he assumed they really did mean anywhere.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>So that’s why Maxie and Archie got off at a bus stop halfway between Celestic Town and Snowpoint City, their suitcases struggling to roll straight on the icy road. By now, it was a week after New Year’s - but what did that matter?</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Right, if this is stop number 506, we should be good,” Archie murmured, looking up at a sign as the bus drove away, “and if not, uh - start running.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Calling it a bus stop was a little bit of a stretch - where the adverts would be was a blank space, and the bright yellow roof sagged, if you looked long enough. Probably one of those ones only erected so the farmer’s kids could get to school. (It explained the roof.) As well - they’d picked a coast. A coast with sea ice stretching off a gravel beach, as far as the eye could see.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Which wasn’t very far at all, actually.</span>
</p><p><span><br/>
</span><span>“A’ight, we’re good!” Archie cheered, leaning on the handle of his suitcase and stuffing the page of notes back in his pocket, “And that leaves us with around...half ‘an hour.” </span><span><br/>
</span><span>The pair shuffled closer to each other then, under the bus stop roof. They still stared out to sea, grey as it was, even as the wind started picking up. </span><span><br/>
</span><span>“How do I look, by the way?” Archie asked, catching a glance at himself in the glass wall behind him, “Decently put together?...” Maxie responded with a fond tilt of the head, a quick tug at his puffy teal scarf - it looked a tiny bit loose, but other than that?</span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“Very stylish. I like the boots,” he told Archie firmly, before giving them a peck on the cheek for luck. And then an extra one, on the top of his nose. A gust of wind blew Archie’s scarf between his face and Maxie’s, but Maxie thought nothing of it.</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“</span><em><span>Oh - </span></em><span>“</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“And,” Maxie repeated, as four white spotlights poked through the cloud cover, “listen - you and I are going to fit </span><em><span>right </span></em><span>in.”</span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>The second great </span><em><span>whoomph</span></em><span> of air from a hundred thrusters sent a flurry of snow flying towards the coast, rustling the bare trees and giving the only two witnesses a second’s warning...before the black hull of a gigantic ship touched down with a deafening </span><b><em>crunch.</em></b> <em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><span>“</span><em><span>Hello-oo!</span></em><span>” called a voice from a loudspeaker, “It’s me! Colress!”</span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>The sea ice shattered under the weight. The pair jumped back. The Starly flew for their lives. The shallow water churned into a neon blue lightshow as the ship sank down into it - a foaming wave roared up the pebbly beach, nearly lapping at Maxie and Archie’s feet. With towering, fluttering solar panels for sails and a hull filled with hydraulics, this wasn’t an ordinary spacecraft - no. Their ride to the New Year’s party would be Colress’ full-sized, modernised, electrified, personalised, bona fide Plasma Frigate.</span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“Well, I…” Maxie stuttered, as the boarding ramp unfolded, “Really, I think my point still </span><span>stands.</span><span>”</span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
<br/>
</span></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. In Which Colress Sees the 'Funniest Shit'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>With the Plasma Frigate on its way back to Alola, everyone comes up on deck to properly begin the party - and it seems Faba has one special guest he wants to show off...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Strictly, we shouldn’t have people on deck while it’s flying.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh, well,” Rose chucked, “they’re all mature adults, aren’t they? A-ha.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Colress let the Chairman of Macros Cosmos take another handful of chips, as he wheeled a tray of snacks down the halls of the Plasma Frigate. Every now and again Colress might pause to take a glance out the porthole window, point at Snowpoint City - it looked like a playset, with model people and toy buses.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Actually, there’s...</span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> kid. The one in the aviator jacket. He’s...only about 21.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>But...the Chairman seemed more concerned with getting the snacks to the general populous.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“But other than that,” Colress assured him, pressing a button on the wall and leading Rose into a lavish mirrored elevator, “I’m sure they’ll behave themselves.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>On the deck of the ship, Faba was setting up the finishing touches; plugging in a microphone on the Plasma Frigate’s onboard stage. (The spotlight he had yet to configure, but he’d be in it) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The great white sails would be their projector screen, and the bar - his perfect assortment of ginger beers and wines was bolted to the deck, just downstairs from stage left. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Already, the couple who’d just boarded were wandering from bow to stern with Colress as their tour guide, huddling close to one another in the brisk breeze - you had to live with that, if you were flying hundreds of feet above the mountains. Dr. Fuji was hogging the chocolate fountain, also fastened tight to the ground - he could hear Blue wondering if the drinking age changed, depending on which part of the globe they were flying over. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>(Cara Liss listened in too, pouring Cozmo a drink - she giggled.)</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Meanwhile, the bowl of chips on the snacks cart was getting dangerously low, and the elevator also felt...dangerously slow. </span>
  <em>
    <span>(Oh, don’t add elevator music, said Ghetsis, it’s too tacky and it’s not right for a military ship. Military ship, my ass.</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Really,” Colress quipped, trying to break the silence, “I saw at least three of them clinging onto the mast when they first went up. It was funny. Very funny.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ah.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Still, Rose smiled.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Colress took a second look at the man, still facing the door and shuffling on his feet. ...The elevator groaned. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>And granted, Colress tried not to look like he was staring, and Rose still glanced to his left and realised he was being stared at, and grinned in a way that very deliberately said ‘isn’t this fun’ - </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Look,” Colress muttered, as the lift doors opened, “If you want to go back downstairs ‘till we reach cruising height, that is </span>
  <em>
    <span>absolutely</span>
  </em>
  <span> fine by me - “</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh, no, really, it’s fine! It’s fine. It’s just the...oh, good, we’re here.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Two of the guests stepped out onto the stage...and the first one had their first proper look at their handiwork. (Or Faba’s, rather.)</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“So you have to question,” Maxie was proposing to a tuxedo-ed Fuji, “how far is too far? At what point does monitoring Pokemon in the PC </span>
  <em>
    <span>become</span>
  </em>
  <span> invasive? Would it be different for each and every culture, and if so, how do you please everyone?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“And - </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> how do you pick out an abused Pokemon in that system?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Yes, yes, quite right!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“It’d be limited to picking up physical stuff,” Archie wondered, “I imagine…”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Fuck, though, Faba hadn’t thought this through. Not the drinking age thing specifically, he mused as he fumbled with understage wires, knocking his glasses aside, </span>
  <em>
    <span>the law thing.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He was fairly sure he’d invited a few wanted criminals onto his ship - would he play dumb, if they got caught. Still, Colress was about to tread on him. They could talk.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“But I still think it’s very worthwhile. Given the time, the money, that kind of development.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Of course - “</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Quite right.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Would Faba ever find it within himself to play dumb?</span>
  </em>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You get all these people these days,” Fuji continued to vent, “saying that we have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘better use of our time’</span>
  </em>
  <span> than worrying about Pokemon and that we should put our focus on humans and their development and their expansion and, yadda, yadda, yadda…”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s sad…”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Maxie nodded - what else could he do? (His husband gave him a Look, a confident smile.)</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“But what I always say is, why not do both?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Why not </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I say,” he echoed, drinking his cocktail.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Attention, attention!” Faba declared, as Cara Liss passed him an empty glass of wine and Colress passed him a knife to clink it with, “As the more sociable among you probably noticed, our final guests have just boarded! The two we came to the actual North Pole for, yeah, that’s right...look, Colress was already looking for an excuse.“</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I - </span>
  </em>
  <span>“ Maxie gasped. The audience snickered.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Don’t worry, I’m, er...not going to make you come up and introduce yourselves, I’m...sure you can handle that just fine,” Faba murmured into the microphone before he started bellowing, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>But is everyone ready to have the best late New Year’s Eve party of twenty-twenty-fiiiiiive?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He was greeted with nine fists in the air and a resounding </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘YEAH!’</span>
  </em>
  <span> A hell yeah, here and there. Cara Liss was screaming. Oleana wasn’t. Exactly what he wanted to hear.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Then our lovely pilot’s going to do his job.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>...Faba bowed. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Blue,” said Colress, walking offstage, “I think you should have the auxiliary cord.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Aux cord,” Blue corrected, following him upstairs to the computer desk on stage right, stuck in a jungle of wires and hidden by speakers that came up to his shoulders.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Helpful,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought, while the rest of the partygoers started wandering and mingling around the stage and the snacks cart - including Grandpa, luckily enough. He sat down.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Now what was he going to play? Did he feel like being a people pleaser? No, stupid question. He could go for the Spinies. Maybe something by Dubwool Syndicate. He could try ‘Krazy for Klara’ if he was feeling really adventurous.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Are you ready?” someone was telling a stranger, offstage.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Blue spun around in the desk chair, thinking - really, he should stop saying ‘people pleaser’ and start saying ‘being nice,’ but, still…</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Someone tapped him on the shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“...Blue,” Faba whispered, “someone - not </span>
  <em>
    <span>me,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but someone’s got a request.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Uh-huh.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Can you find…</span>
  <em>
    <span>’Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy?’</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Uhhh-huh.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Good. Wonderful.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>(What could Blue do?)</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>So as the first few plucks of the pizzicato strings wafted out of the speakers, Blue swivelled around in Colress’ rickety spare desk chair to look at the back of the stage. All ten partygoer’s ears pricked up one by one - Rose and Maxie smiled, Professor Oak blushed - that is, ‘till the familiar, quiet tinkling tune on the glockenspiel was joined by a single out-of-rhythm, out-of-tune...dong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the elevator doors slid open.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh, how </span>
  <em>
    <span>lovely!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It took a couple of seconds for them all to look...down.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“What?” Oak mumbled, “It’s just a Pokemon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>A tiny Clefairy stood in the doorway, glowing a soft pink. With a hop and a skip and a slide across the stage it landed on the edge, fluttering tinier, ornamental wings.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Cozmo stayed at the very back with a very confused old professor, while the rest all crowded around the front of the stage - all of them put a bit of distance between them and the little fairy, but some still held out a hand to see if the creature might know how to shake it. By now, the Clefairy was sprawled out on one of the stage lights, looking the guests up and down with a wry, knowing grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘The fuck?’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>Blue mouthed from backstage. His grandpa shrugged.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You know,” Rose quipped, pointing at the Pokemon, “Oleana, I didn’t think this is what they meant when they said ‘entertainment’ - did you?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Mm.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Fuji stroked his chin - “Is that his, though?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Could be.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh, he’s quite the collector,” Faba told him with a smirk and a barely restrained chuckle - but Fuji had to raise an eyebrow.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’ve never seen an actual Clefairy before,” Archie explained, holding out the back of his hand and letting the strange creature close the gap, “They don’t even look like they’re really </span>
  <em>
    <span>there -</span>
  </em>
  <span> I think it’s the fur. Or the fuzz, rather.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I can </span>
  <em>
    <span>see</span>
  </em>
  <span> that, actually - ” Maxie ruffled the creature on its velvety head.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Aren’t you the </span>
  <em>
    <span>loveliest</span>
  </em>
  <span> little extraterrestrial, though?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Looking back...it had a distinctly annoyed expression.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“My name’s Max, by the way,” he added quietly with his hand over his heart and a deep bow, hearing his husband laugh to himself, “Welcome to Earth. I hope you enjoy it; I certainly do.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Heeey,” said the Clefairy in the voice of a middle aged man, “I’m Bill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Faba heard someone shriek.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Boom!” said his guest, “Big reveal.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>And then several more.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Okay,” Archie stammered, stumbling backwards into Maxie, “wait, hold up - no? </span>
  <em>
    <span>No!</span>
  </em>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Again?!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Blue howled, collapsing onto the desk chair and laughing until his sides hurt.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Goodness gracious me, that’s not right - </span>
  </em>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Faba,” Colress wondered, “Are they going to keep dancing or not? Should I tell Blue to switch to something more...”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“They weren’t dancing in the first place.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Ah, Bill,” Fuji cried, “ya’ crazy bastard!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Rose,” said Oleana, “I believe that’s a man.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Seriously?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This isn’t what Bill promised him when he said it should be a surprise, Faba thought to himself. And in all fairness, they both thought this was genuinely hilarious, an absolute hoot - but now, as though a magic spell had been broken, Faba was starting to see the flaws in the plan, the dare-he-say-it ethical implications. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>And the fact the tabletops were at the top of a Clefairy’s head.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Okay, in all seriousness, can </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone </span>
  </em>
  <span>help me get off the stage?” Bill loudly asked, clumsily knocking the microphone off its stand and onto the floor so he could reach it, “Anyone? I’m serious, these wings </span>
  <em>
    <span>genuinely</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t work…”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Colress wouldn’t have a booster seat. Would he? No.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll do it!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Cara Liss cried, pushing her way through the crowd and grabbing the fairy, “...So long as you tell me how you did that later, alright? I think you’ve...managed to pique my interest. That’s very rare.” She winked.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh,” the Clefairy drawled, “that information’s classified.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“</span>
  <b>
    <em>Stop that,</em>
  </b>
  <span>” Oak bellowed.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>no i don't want cara liss and bill to do this either it just popped out</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>so ya boi wanted to work with some new characters and decided to write her first researchethicshipping fic! i'm still getting a hang of faba's character but as this goes on i'm sure he'll click for me<br/>-----<br/>i think the rest of this is gonna be made up of shorter scenes i'll post one by one, with this as just the intro? i have a Lot in mind but any comments could give me ideas, but not a lot of time lmaooo</p></blockquote></div></div>
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